Chapter 31: Exaggerated Article.

Chapter 31

The coarse texture of the parchment felt like abrasive linen against the smooth skin of Sigrid’s fingers as her gaze locked onto the opening heading. The typeset was audacious, deliberately inked in an aggressive, sweeping script calculated to capture the eyes of any passing courtier.

{THE ARKOVIAN CHRONICLE}

{Imperial Edition — Morning Post}

SCANDAL AT THE ROYAL ATRIUM: CRIMSON WITCH FORSAKES THE GOLDEN PRINCE

♡By Order of the High Court Scribes♡

In a display that has left the high nobility of the realm in profound consternation, Lady Sigrid Thea Beaufort chose the grand arena of the Imperial Ball to enact her final, social ruin. Observers confirm the maiden openly ignored the grace of our Golden Prince, casting her lot instead with the dreaded Warlord of the North. By extending her hand to a Duke whispered to slaughter his own kin without a shred of mercy, Lady Sigrid has willingly marched straight into the devil’s den.

Having severed all ties to the noble Beaufort lineage, she stands entirely devoid of family backing or crown leverage. To the courtly eyes of Arkovia, she is a damsel caught in burning flames, destined for utter destitution the very moment the ruthless Lord of Aethermor chooses to cast her out from his frozen walls...

Sigrid continued to scan the page, her crimson eyes tracking the theatrical vocabulary of the courtly scribes who evidently knew precisely how to inflame the curiosities of the populace. A silent, mocking scoff rippled behind her composed features. They spoke of her as if she were a helpless pawn, ignorant of the fact that even if Soren were to discard their legal alliance, her mind was far too efficient, her spirit far too seasoned, to ever be left without a path to survival. She turned the page with a sharp, deliberate flick of her wrist, her eyes falling upon a secondary column that bore a title of equal sensationalism:

{THE DARLING OF THE ROYAL ATRIUM: A MATCH BLESSED BY THE HEAVENS?}

While the elder Beaufort sister courts absolute darkness in the frozen wastes, the saintly Lady Maria Fiona Beaufort has captured the very light of the sun. Whispers abound within the palace corridors that the fair maiden was seen escorting the Imperial Prince directly into his private chambers after the ball’s chaotic conclusion, the two of them holding each other with an unmistakable, scandalous intimacy. Two sisters, two alliances—yet one is clearly more blessed than the other to have captured the affections of the future king.

Aside from Lady Sigrid’s scene at the ball, all talk has been on her scandalous ball gown. Some critics decry the silk as far too bold, claiming she possessed the terrifying aura of a creature who would readily kill a man in his sleep, yet all agree that her presence took the breath from the room—a masterpiece crafted by the delicate hands of the boutique owner, Lady Marigold...

The remainder of the sheet dissolved into mundane tallies of northern timber trades and imperial tax levies. Sigrid handed the crumpled newspaper back to the trembling maid, dismissing the servants with a curt inclination of her head. As the girls scurried down the corridor like frightened mice, Sigrid allowed a slow, predatory smile to touch her lips. She cared absolutely nothing for the insults leveled against her character, nor did the fleeting compliments regarding her beauty move her cold heart; it was the confirmation of Maria and Ragnar’s coupling that brought a profound sense of satisfaction to her chest. She was not the least bit surprised by the development. Maria had always thirsted for Ragnar’s station, cultivating a desperate ambition beneath her sweet demeanor, and now she finally possessed him.

Sigrid would content herself to watch from afar, allowing the prince’s inherent vanity and weakness to thoroughly ruin her stepsister before she ever lifted a finger to begin her grand design.

A royal marriage would undoubtedly be announced within the season. Sigrid recalled with perfect clarity from her past life that the old king and queen were quite frail, destined to perish a mere two years after Ragnar’s eventual nuptials. During those final months, the late queen had been exceptionally harsh with Sigrid, a cruelty she now understood as a rigorous, desperate attempt to train a proper successor for the throne. But Maria would receive no such preparation; she had been raised soft, shielded by her mother’s coddling and our father’s foolish indulgence. The weight of the crown would crush her before the first year of her reign concluded. Leaning her weight onto the polished wooden staff, Sigrid resumed her slow walk down the corridor, her mind churning with strategic precision.

She knew with absolute certainty that in the years to come, Soren would raise his banners in open rebellion against Ragnar for whatever hidden reasons he harbored. It was the primary catalyst that had driven her to secure the Duke’s hand; she intended to align herself entirely with his treason, using his overwhelming military might to shatter the royal lineage. But before she dealt the final blow to the prince, she would systematically dismantle every noble amd commoner who had stood in cowardly silence while she was wrongly accused and dragged to the chopping block.

The first target of her vengeance would be her former lady-in-waiting, Isabel Warwick. As the daughter of a prominent marquess, Isabel had been positioned closest to Sigrid during her time as queen, and Sigrid now strongly suspected the girl had been the internal operative who granted Maria clandestine access to her private chambers and her personal wax envelope marker to forge the treasonous letters. In her past life, Sigrid had never been fond of the girl, but she had lacked the political authority to choose her own retinue; Ragnar had forced Isabel upon her under the insulting pretext that Sigrid was far too inexperienced to manage a royal household alone. Once she had ascended to the throne, she had been too consumed by state affairs to investigate the girl’s shifting loyalties. She would ensure Isabel paid dearly for her insolence, using her ruin as the foundation upon which the rest of her enemies would fall, saving the absolute best of her wrath for last: Maria and Ragnar.